But the only answer was the churning of the bank-full stream a hundred yards away, the thunder of the wind through the pines below, and the eerie echo of his own voice coming back to him through the snows.
Laboriously he left the machine and climbed back to the summit, there to seek out the little tent house he had seen far at one side and which he instinctively knew to be the rest room and refreshment stand of the summer season.

But he found it, as he had feared he would find it, a deserted, cold, napping thing, without a human, without a single comfort, or the possibility of fire or warmth through the night.
Summer, for Hazard Pass, at least, still was a full month away.

For a moment he shivered within it, staring about its bleak interior by the aid of a flickering match.

Then he went outside again.

It was only a shell, only a hope that could not be realized.